


Reacquainted

by Curator



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Clear Lake, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Post-Episode: s07e25 Endgame (Star Trek: Voyager), implications of fame, of course, then it gets complicated, trigger warning: references to millenniums-old natural disaster (lava flow affecting trees)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator
Summary: Kathryn Janeway needs physical and emotional release. Enter a recently divorced Tom Paris who hits on her at the five-year anniversary party for Voyager’s homecoming.
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris
Comments: 28
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> By my guesstimate, Klingon maturation makes Miral at age five the equivalent of a human twelve-year-old.

There was a lot I didn’t know when that hand cupped my right ass cheek and squeezed.

Yes, I knew Tom and B’Elanna had divorced.

I didn’t know it was because B’Elanna had been correct — Tom couldn’t take two Klingons in his home.

He told me later about the fights and stony silences. 

He loved Miral, but the little girl was moody and irritable in a way B’Elanna understood and the mother and daughter had long talks that stopped when Tom entered the room. 

When he packed his bags, B’Elanna watched, her arms crossed, but she didn’t ask him to stay. 

I knew he’d taken a piloting job because it was within Starfleet and the headquarters computer would alert me to any transfer or promotion for former members of my crew.

I didn’t know that when he received an invitation to the five-year anniversary of _Voyager’s_ return, Tom checked with Harry to find out if B’Elanna and Miral would be at the party. When Harry said they wouldn’t, Tom figured he may as well go.

He was two beers, a glass of wine, and a shot of tequila into the evening when he had been snubbed by Susan Nicoletti, rebuffed by Marla Gilmore, and flat-out rejected by Megan Delaney. Then he saw a woman looking out a window, her head angled up to see the stars. He figured he may as well hit on her, too. So he slid an arm around her waist, let his hand drop to give her a little squeeze and breathed into her ear, “How about we take a walk and get reacquainted?”

And I turned and said, “Not the best offer I’ve ever received, but far from the worst.”

Because there were things Tom didn’t know, too. Things I hadn’t told anyone because it was nobody’s damn business. 

Like what dating had been like in the Alpha Quadrant.

Blind dates:

“You — you were the captain of … that … that ship! The one that, um …” 

“ _Voyager_.” 

“Yes! _Voyager_! The miracle ship! That was you! You were the captain!” 

“Sure was.” 

“Oh! Oh!”

Starfleet personnel:

“You have no idea how lucky you are to have missed the Dominion War.”

“So I’m told.”

“It must have been great to make first contacts and observe new spatial phenomena instead of having to fight Jem'Hadar battleships.”

“Right.”

“One time, there were six ships surrounding our position and …”

Friends of friends:

“I hear you’ve been adjusting back to life on Earth.”

“That’s true.”

“How has it been going?”

“Well, I —”

“You must be so happy to be here, safe and sound, with that awful experience behind you.”

Groupies. Officers angling for alpha position. People who just didn’t understand. 

I tried for years, but dating became demoralizing in a way I couldn’t put words to, so I stopped. 

Which meant Tom’s hand was the most action my rear end had seen in far too long.

I’d already given my speech, held Chakotay and Seven’s baby, chatted with Harry’s mother, and consumed exactly one glass of champagne. My ass wanted a lot of things and one of them was to get the hell out of there.

And here was this man I knew, trusted, and certainly found attractive over the years and his mouth was curled in a half-grin as his eyes shifted from my face to my chest. 

But Tom could flirt for sport and I couldn’t risk the humiliation that he had no intention of following through. So I said, “I’ll walk with you, Mr. Paris,” as if I somehow thought he meant a cargo bay inspection. Then we were down the stairs of Starfleet Headquarters and I set off in the direction of my apartment building.

“You live in the city?” he said, glow from the streetlights catching and releasing his blond hair as we moved down the sidewalk.

“Yes. You?”

“Quarters on the _Polyglot_.”

The _Polyglot_ was a fresh-off-the-line ship of diplomacy. Earth to Vulcan. Earth to Betazed. Earth to Arkaria. Pick up, drop off, keep the ride smooth.

“Sounds boring.”

It was a test. Just as I’d watched his sure-footed stride down the stairs at headquarters to be certain he wasn’t too inebriated, I was taking a dig at his duty assignment to see if I would get a proper “yes, ma’am” or “no, ma’am” — or something more personal.

“It is a little dull in space.” Tom held his hand out palm down, and, as he spoke, lowered it from chest to waist height. “But the landing sequence of the descent, glide, and struts all working together to hit a tight, little, embassy landing pad in just the right spot,” he splayed his fingers, “feels amazing every time.”

The pressure low in my stomach shifted to between my legs and it took additional focus to keep to my walking pace.

“Sounds like you know what you’re doing.” My voice didn’t sound right. Gravelly. Breathy. 

“I like to think so, but I’ve always been good at moving in and out of small areas.”

His tongue darted out to his top lip and I was suddenly and violently grateful Starfleet underwear absorbs fluids regardless of viscosity.

It had been so damn long.

But there remained a small but not insignificant chance that Tom wasn’t serious. When we got to my building, I needed him to make the final suggestion.

“This is me.” I stopped and gestured toward the high-rise.

His head tilted. “Not Starfleet housing?”

My eyebrow went up. “Life’s too short not to mix it up a little, don’t you think?” 

“Sure.” Tom stepped so close I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “So how about we mix it up?”

Six minutes later, I was out of my dress uniform, my face was buried in my pillow, and Tom’s hands were on my hips. He slammed into me over and over again as I cried out in blissful release.

Goddamn, I had missed this.

***

Before sunrise, I used the bathroom and slipped on a nightgown. Tom was asleep on his stomach with his arm dangling off the side of the bed. I was sore, but it was a good sore.

A great sore.

Sure, I’d had sex since getting home. But groupies were boring, officers angling for alpha position had hurt me, and people who didn’t understand were lousy at a lot of things. It took only a few experiences to learn not having sex at all was better than the disappointment.

But sex with Tom had been just the quivery, wet, explosive, whole-body give and take that I’d wanted for a long time.

My lips curved in a smile, I climbed back into bed and closed my eyes. The next thing I heard was the ping of my front door’s automatic locking mechanism. My eyes flew open and I winced in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Then, through my bedroom doorway, came a familiar hand that held a familiar cup.

“What’s wrong with your replicator?” The rest of Tom’s body emerged through the doorway. “I asked for coffee and it gave me a tomato.”

I wanted to joke about replicators gathering in dark alleys to plot ways to make me crazy. I wanted to smooth his hair where it stuck up in tufts. I wanted to cup the stubble on his cheek and stroke it with my thumb as I brought my lips to his in a closed-mouth, sweet kiss of good morning. 

But I sat up and said, “I’ve learned not to expect much from replicators.” 

“So you moved into a building with a coffee shop downstairs?”

“Exactly.”

Tom handed me a cup of coffee, then settled in the chair next to my bed with his own cup and a small, brown bag. 

His dress uniform was adorably rumpled. My own dress uniform was in pieces on the carpet with last night’s pink bra hanging half on and half off the edge of my bureau. 

With his thumb and two fingers, Tom peeled back the lid on his cup. Those beautiful fingers that pinched, thrusted, grasped … and now brought coffee to my bedside? Oh, yes.

In part to hide my grin, I held my cup under my nose. But a sickly sweet smell intruded on the coffee aroma. I eyed Tom.

“What have you got there?”

He set his coffee on the floor and reached into the bag on his lap. “Peanut butter muffin. The guy at the coffee shop said they were the best in the Bay.”

I’d never bothered with the sweets at the shop, preferring to grab coffee and then either get breakfast from the less-finicky replicator in my office or fight with my own hateful machine until it rewarded me with a bowl of oatmeal or a plate of toast with jam.

But the confection Tom held in his glorious fingers like a jewel in a ring was looking pretty damn good. 

He ripped off a small chunk and walked over. 

My lips parted automatically. 

And, yes, it was a good muffin, but that’s not why I caught Tom’s wrist and licked the crumbs from his fingertips. My nightgown wasn’t heavy, yet my skin itched to have it gone.

And then it was.


	2. Chapter 2

I love a long-distance relationship. I love counting the days until I see my partner again, giving and receiving each other’s full attention, then spending my time however I like as I look forward to another reunion.

So when Tom was leaning a hip against my clothing refresher waiting for his uniform to be cleaned and pressed, I was interested in what he had to say despite the distraction of his naked body.

“The _Polyglot_ is an uptight ship. I wear my dress uniform most days and there’s almost always some dignitary onboard so everyone has to be on their best behavior. I could use a little fun when I’m on Earth.”

I took a sip of coffee that had gone cold. “I’m listening.”

But, as I was learning was typical, Tom made me work for what I wanted. 

“I think you know what I’m suggesting.”

I couldn’t taste the coffee anymore. I took a bogus sip, a stall while I figured out how to reply. 

“Do either of us get to be with other people?”

It didn’t matter for me, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. And, it kills me, but I’m old-fashioned and I didn’t like the idea of Tom poking into whomever he wanted while I was monogamous. I would have accepted it, though, with full disclosure. 

But Tom crossed his arms. He looked me up and down in a way that made my skin tingle and my bathrobe feel translucent. His head tilted and the corners of his mouth curled upward. 

“No.”

I stuffed my relief deep inside and stuck out my hand. “You have a deal.”

He took my hand and pulled me to him. His lips met mine. “That’s not how you seal this kind of deal.”

I handed him my coffee to put on top of the refresher. I wanted his tongue sliding on mine, but I needed to wrap my arms around him so I wouldn’t fall when my knees buckled.

***

Tom usually knew a week ahead of time when the _Polyglot_ would overnight in the Oakland shipyard. He would send me his schedule and I would tell him I’d make arrangements to be home, not mentioning I was usually home in the evenings anyway.

When Tom would walk in, I would give him a few minutes to take off his boots and hang up his jacket.

Then he was mine.

I would drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. I would push him onto the bed and climb on top of him. I tried to choke him a little but he said he didn’t like that so I didn’t do it again.

But, God, it was so good to be together. 

Physically.

He knew better than to try to talk much before or during sex and he was usually too blissed out afterward to have any kind of conversation. But when he brought coffees and a muffin in the mornings, he might say something like, “What have you been up to the last few days?” to which I would reply along the lines of, “My ears in work.” If he mentioned catching up with Harry, I would ask which diplomat was onboard while the comm system connected the most powerful alliance of friends in the Federation.

Once he asked why I was being so distant and I said 70,000 light years was distance, not chatting in the same room in San Francisco. My laughter at my own joke was hollow.

We spent two months that way — fourteen _Polyglot_ overnights on Earth.

Then Tom was pulling on his boots to leave when he said, “My dad asked me why I don’t see him or my mom as much when I’m in San Francisco.”

I swallowed the last bite of that morning’s muffin. “I didn’t realize you two were friends again.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but sometimes I would have dinner with my parents or stay over at the house to get a break from my quarters and I haven’t done either since you and I began our arrangement.” 

He stood, his boots and uniform pristine and perfect. My arms crossed so I wouldn’t pull it all off him again as I followed him to the front door.

“You can see your mother and father. You can see whomever you like.”

“Kathryn,” Tom’s hand rubbed his forehead, “stop it.”

I leaned next to the front door keypad so he would have to reach over me to activate it.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He shook his head. “You know exactly what I mean and you can either give me the go-ahead to tell my dad we’re seeing each other or you can accept that I’ll be lying to him about not dating anyone.”

“Well, we haven’t gone out on any dates.” I was teasing, trying to keep Tom a little off balance so I could decide what to tell him to do about his dad.

But Tom jabbed the keypad and said, “I’ll be back in five days. We’re going out on a date.”

The door closed behind him.

I slid down the wall to the floor and rested my head on my knees. My chin ached in that way when the body wants to make tears and the mind won’t let it.

Later, much later, Tom told me he gasped for air as he rode downstairs in the lift. He was afraid he had ruined everything.

Because, to Tom’s way of thinking, there were two ways to start a relationship with a woman. He could get to know her mind first or he could get to know her body first. What he didn’t understand was why he’d gotten to know my mind on _Voyager_ and my body on Earth, but couldn’t seem to have both.

Meanwhile, with my head on my knees, that mind was picking through dregs of every bad date I’d been on since getting home. Tom had been my friend, then a delightful solution to my sex famine. But I had no idea how to talk to him without making it blindingly obvious that, since getting back to the Alpha Quadrant, I hadn’t been able to connect with anyone. I knew Tom wasn’t a groupie, wouldn’t angle for alpha position, and would understand the _Voyager_ years better than most people. But that meant if I tried and couldn’t connect with Tom, someone I actually liked and cared about, then something was really and truly wrong with me, that I was the problem and Tom might end our arrangement and my odds of ever finding anyone else became achingly dismal. 

I refused to cry, so I gathered the empty coffee cups and the muffin wrapper. I threw them into the recycler and watched them dissolve.


	3. Chapter 3

_Wear comfortable shoes._

That’s all Tom’s message said, plus coordinates in central Oregon and a time of 1700 hours. I didn’t check my personal frequency very often, so his text-only communique was surrounded by unread messages from my mother, which I continued to ignore.

But, for Tom, I changed into civilian clothes and tennis shoes, grabbed a sweater, and pretended the worry twisting my stomach wasn’t there. It was early March, chilly in San Francisco, and I hunched into the wind as I walked to the transporter station.

It was better than my destination being logged in Starfleet systems.

I materialized on a transporter pad within a small building. Through the windows, I could see fir trees and a blue sky. Tom strode toward me, a pleased grin on his face … and the handles of two dog leashes in his hand, each being pulled by a very impatient golden retriever.

It was instinctual to crouch and pet the sweet, silky puppies. Some dogs slobber, but these were nuzzlers and they rubbed their heads against my neck, one then the other, then they would trade again. Warmth spread across my chest and I let my fingers sink into their furry shoulders.

I looked up at Tom. “My apartment building doesn’t allow pets.”

“That’s all right.” He held out a hand to help me to my feet. “These are loaners. We walk them, then send them back to their dog shelter.”

“That’s the date?” I wiped my hands on my trousers, leaving streaks of tan fur. 

“That’s the date.” He handed me a leash. 

The dog yanked and I stumbled forward. “Then let’s go.”

We were at Clear Lake, a place I had read about but never visited. It was true the water was transparent, appearing aqua or azure depending on the vantage point. There was something reverent, a profound quiet. 

Tom pointed to a system of transparent walkways latticed several meters above the lake.

“Engineered in the twenty-second century,” he said. “I was thinking we could walk the dirt path around, then go up and over.”

“All right.” The leash dug into my fingers as I tried to slow a dog very eager for his exercise. “Have you been here before?”

“No,” Tom said, his hand tight on his own dog leash. “But I heard the area was both beautiful and scientifically relevant. So I did a little research, found out about the shelter program, and thought you might enjoy a date here.”

I wanted to say, “It’s perfect and I love it,” but the words got caught and I didn’t say anything.

For a while, there was just the sound of our shoes on the path and the dogs panting. There were other people and I could tell by widening eyes or gaping mouths that some of them recognized me from the media blitz that surrounded _Voyager’s_ homecoming. But lake etiquette seemed to dictate nothing more than nods hello. Tom seemed content to stroll, and the relative anonymity plus quiet with another person helped loosen the worry in my stomach.

“Do you want to switch?” he asked. I clearly had the more excitable of the two dogs and my first thought was to say no, I could handle it. But my shoulder was getting yanked every few seconds. I passed Tom my dog’s leash and took his.

“Thanks.” That was all I meant to say, but the rest came tumbling out. “This is the best date I’ve been on in a really long time.”

“Good.” Tom smiled softly.

And that was it.

No cross-examination, no demands. 

I smiled softly, too.

***

We were on the latticework, making our way back to the transporter site. The dogs were moving slowly. The sun was low.

Under my feet was the forest within the lake. 

A volcanic eruption formed Clear Lake about 3,500 years ago. Lava coated the trees, then redirected a river that submerged them.

Reading about the event didn’t do it justice.

The trees were slightly conical with no underwater branches that I could see, just trunks hit by an immense force and left to slowly die inside, lava encasing them like tombstones.

My skin prickled into goosebumps.

“I want to go home, Tom. I want to leave now.”

“All right.”

We walked to the transporter station and gave the dogs a few pats before returning them to their shelter. Then Tom and I beamed to San Francisco. It was dark and even though it was past dinnertime and we had been walking for a while, I wasn’t hungry.

“If you want something from the replicator, I had it serviced so it might actually give you what you ask for,” I told Tom when we got to my apartment. “I need to take a shower.”

I wanted hot water, as hot as I could stand.

The volcanic eruption changed living trees into something voyeurs admired for fortitude when what the people were actually seeing was the legacy of the disaster, not what had been destroyed. What people called trees were actually husks of something that withered and died a long, long time ago.

I stood in the almost-scalding water and breathed into my cupped hands.

I told myself I wasn’t a tree encased in lava, even if all those awful dates had been with people who only saw what I had been through and not who I was inside.

Because I was still alive inside. I knew that.

I switched the shower to sonic to dry off, then put on my nightgown. When I left the bathroom, Tom was sitting on my bed in his boxer shorts and a t-shirt.

“I considered sending a search party,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m really tired.” That was true, if not an answer to his question.

“Should I remind you that you didn’t eat dinner or should I just let you sleep?” His blue eyes were worried.

“I would like to sleep.”

In the middle of the night, I jerked awake and realized this was the first time Tom and I had just lay down to go to sleep. No sex.

I reached for his hand and, gently enough to avoid waking him, I squeezed it.


	4. Chapter 4

Probably because we got more rest together than usual, Tom and I woke up early the morning after our first date and had breakfast at the small table in my kitchen.

“Do you want to talk about what bothered you?” Tom handed me a chunk of muffin.

I tore off a smaller piece and chewed. “When you meet people, do they always bring up _Voyager_?”

“That’s the nice thing about just being the chauffeur.” He shrugged. “Most people ask a few questions, then move on to other topics. Sometimes pilots want to know details, but it’s mostly technical stuff.”

“What about when you tried to date?” I took another small bite of muffin. “Did people only seem interested in what you’d been through, not in you as a person?”

“I went on a few dates after my divorce and before the _Voyager_ homecoming anniversary. One woman asked about it but when I said I wasn’t one of the crewmembers assimilated by the Borg she lost interest.” He lowered his voice. “I think she had a kink for cybernetics.”

I smiled because I was supposed to, but I’d certainly had that conversation on dates and it hadn’t been funny at the time.

“Tom.” I stared into my coffee, dark except for a few shiny bubbles clinging to the side of the cup. “I’m like those trees in the lake. Everyone calls them trees, but they’re not. They’re lava in the shape of a tree. When people look at me, they see what happened, but they don’t see me.”

If he had said something like, “I’m sure people don’t do that” or “are you sure?” or “just give it more time,” I might have told him to leave and never come back, sex famine or no sex famine.

But he reached across the table and tipped my chin to look at him and he said, “I see you. And I like what I see. Anyone who misses that is missing out.”

I walked around the table, sat in his lap, put my arms around his neck, and whispered, “Thank you.”

***

“He said it just like that?” Tom was chortling and, since my head was on his chest, I was getting bounced around.

“Yes! He put his beer on the bar and he said, ‘You could explore my Delta Quadrant.’ What does that even mean?”

Tom began to choke from laughter and I shifted so he could sit up. I sat next to him, our bare shoulder blades against my headboard. 

“It means you went on a lot of really shitty dates.”

I grinned. “Not lately.”

His lips brushed mine and he said, “Good.”

In the month since our first date, Tom and I had gone skiing, apple picking, and, at his insistence, to a replicator programming class.

His mouth moved lower and his fantastic fingers began to caress and pinch. “Round two?”

“Yes, please.”

***

A few weeks later, I picked up one of Tom’s boots and noticed tiny crescents of bite marks on it.

I stood in front of the sonic shower, boot in hand, and waited for him to finish. When the shower door opened, I lifted the boot and my eyebrows. 

“What?” Tom blinked. 

“Who or what has been nibbling on your footwear?”

He leaned over to inspect the boot, then his face split into a grin. “Nicolai!”

“Nicolai?”

Tom pulled his boxer shorts from the vanity and began to put them on. “My sister Kathleen lives on Betazed so I visit with her family when I’m there. Her kids have been begging for a kitten for years. They got Nicolai a few weeks ago and he’s teething.”

As Tom continued to get dressed, my fingertip dragged along the small, even indentations.

I didn’t know Tom’s sister Kathleen lived on Betazed. 

I had no idea where his sister Moira lived.

I wasn’t sure how much contact he had with Miral or B’Elanna.

And despite giving Tom permission to tell his parents about us, I never asked what they said. When I saw Tom’s father at headquarters, it was always with other officers and I had made no effort to seek him out.

My chest was heavy. 

The boot became blurry. 

Tom’s arms were around me and my forehead was on his shoulder, his hand stroking my hair.

“What is it?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

Shame burned on my cheeks and I shook my head.

***

The next time Tom overnighted on Earth, I was ready. I brought him to my bedroom and pointed to a rectangular box on my bed.

He looked at me. 

“Open it.”

He did and found the padd inside.

“It’s programmed with questions from the partnership sub-library of the cultural database.” I sat cross-legged on my side of the bed and motioned for him to do the same on his side. “The algorithm is randomized so we can learn more about each other. Do you want to try it?”

His kiss was on my forehead and then he tapped the padd to begin.

I learned a lot.

How Tom sent Miral a subspace letter once a month. B’Elanna told him Miral received them, but wanted nothing to do with her father. Tom was trying to find peace with that, with the idea that his daughter was incompatible with him the way he had been incompatible with his own father, but he struggled.

How Tom didn’t particularly like his parents, but he wanted to be a good son, so he kept trying. He did like his sisters, but they were closer with each other than they were with him. He could understand that, but it hurt his feelings when they didn’t ask him to join them for family gatherings.

How Tom didn’t use the holodeck much anymore. The one on the _Polyglot_ was often occupied by officers who needed to plan diplomatic functions, but the ship had an observation lounge where crew gathered off duty. Tom would go there to chat and play cards.

I told him things I had never told anyone.

How my mother joined a support group while _Voyager_ was lost. She sent me an inspirational message every day and, in person, told me I needed to process my pain in the company of others — something I would never, ever do. Yet she wouldn’t stop either the messages or the suggestions despite my asking her numerous times to let me handle things my own way.

How my work at headquarters was interesting, but I was the only person at my rank who hadn’t been part of the Dominion War, which meant my opinions were held in less esteem and often overridden. I continued to try to find ways to be heard, but it wore me down.

How I always hoped my sister and I would get closer when we got older, but she remained more interested in telling me I was wrong than anything else.

Tom and I ended up bringing the padd to the table for dinner, to the side of the tub while I took my bath, and then back to bed.

“We should do this every so often.” He placed the padd on his nightstand. “It’s good for us.”

I grinned as I watched Tom climb into bed next to me. “Agreed.”

“You know,” he pulled me to him and chuckled, “someone should access the sexual proclivities sub-library of the cultural database and create an algorithm for experimentation.”

I rolled over, pulled a padd from my nightstand, and handed it to him. “Someone did.”

His eyes widened.

“What?” My voice dripped with faux innocence. “I was already accessing the cultural database. It only took a few minutes to design the new algorithm.”

Tom was already tapping and scrolling, a huge smile on his face. “I am the luckiest guy in the quadrant.”

In one motion, I straddled him and ground my hips the way I knew he liked. “Let’s prove that hypothesis.”

He shuddered under me, then tossed the padd aside and grabbed my rear end with both hands. “Thanks for agreeing to take a walk and get reacquainted.”

“Thanks for taking the ‘reacquainted’ part seriously.”

I bent to kiss him.


End file.
